


The Beloved To His Poet

by rose_coloured



Series: 24 Days of Les Mis Christmas [20]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Poetry, Romance, This is the fluffiest thing I have ever written, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 17:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_coloured/pseuds/rose_coloured
Summary: Courfeyrac didn't do romance, it wasn't something he truly understood. But his plan to woo Jehan, through daily poems until Christmas sounded amazing in his own ears. Only he hadn't planned, what would happen once Jehan found out.





	The Beloved To His Poet

“So what do you think? It’s an amazing idea, isn’t it? Tell me I am amazing!”, Courfeyrac wasn’t nervous, he never was. Except for now, because Combeferre and Enjolras were both looking at him in utter confusion.   
“Wait a second. Let me get this straight.”, Enjolras responded and Combeferre automatically put his hand over Courfeyrac’s mouth, to stop him from making a joke, on how nothing about him was ever straight.  
“So you say, you want to ‘woo Jehan’ by anonymously sending him love-poetry in the way of an advent calendar?”, his brows were furrowed as if he couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of what he had said. Courfeyrac, now once again free from Combeferre’s hand nodded enthusiastically.   
“Yes, it’s nice isn’t it? Come on ‘Ferre it is a nice idea!”, he looked at his other best friend with pleading eyes. Really the idea was amazing. He liked Jehan, he liked to see the other man smile and the idea sounded amazing in his own ears. 

Combeferre looked at him with a pained expression.   
“Courf, we get it you want to make Jehan happy, but you need to see the whole thing for a minute. You are calling it wooing, and all of ous three can safely say that Jehan will assume a romantic plan behind all of this.”  
Courfeyrac nodded slowly. Yes, it was very romantical, that was why he had decided to do it.   
“Okay, good to see we are on the same page. But you always say, you don’t really feel attracted to people in a romantical way. No don’t understand me wrong, but wouldn’t this be leading him on? Maybe you should be clear about your feelings for him. Before one of you gets hurt.”

Oh, well he wasn’t wrong. Usually, Courfeyrac didn’t spend much time thinking about romance, it just didn’t really make much sense to him. He liked sex, but the idea of deep romantical feelings behind it just baffled him.   
He loved, of course, he loved.   
He loved his friends all the same. Yeah well, maybe he liked Jehan more. 

It was just… He didn’t have a name for this, it was kind of a different feeling. And it confused him.  
But what he knew, was that he wanted to make Jehan happy. And this was a way to do this. So he just smiled at Enjolras and Combeferre and shrugged. “I am not going to lead him on, maybe he doesn’t even find out who is sending him those poems. I trust you enough, to know you won’t tell him.” His two best friends looked at each other before they rolled their eyes and sighed. They still weren’t convinced this wasn’t going to blow up in his face, but right now Courfeyrac couldn’t care less.  
“So, if this intervention is over, I got to go. I have love poems to google.” With that, he bowed and walked out of their living room.  
“This is going to end badly.”, he heard Combeferre say to Enjolras.   
The responding “Ten bucks he still manages to get out of it unharmed.” wasn’t heard by Courfeyrac.

*

And so on the 1st of December, just past 1 am Courfeyrac found himself outside of Jehan’s flat. Luckily he and Grantaire didn’t live far away from his shared flat with Enjolras and Combeferre. And more luckily Enjolras had a spare key, so Courfeyrac could get into the house and drop the small envelope in front of their flat. It was cold outside, and while there wasn’t a sign of snow the night sky was clouded. He would have to get up at arse a clock in the morning for the next 24 days.   
But damn, it was definitely worth it.

> “Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,  
> Enwrought with golden and silver light,  
> The blue and the dim and the dark cloths  
> Of night and light and the half-light,  
> I would spread the cloths under your feet:  
> But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
> I have spread my dreams under your feet;  
> Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”
> 
> W.B. Yeats 
> 
>  
> 
> Expect more of this to come, for I am here to give you the finest poetry daily until Christ-mas. I am trying to tell you something, but for once, I am not good with my words. 
> 
> Love

He hadn’t dared to write more, just the most necessary things. And while he, at the bottom of his heart, hoped that Jehan would find out who he was, he was way too nervous. So, for now, this had to be enough.

*

When he met Jehan the next day, the other man practically glowed. While the wind was storming outside and rain was pouring down, they were sat at one of the cafés at their uni. Both of them had some free time before their next lecture and they had made a habit out of meeting each other.   
“What’s up with you? You are even more cheery than usual?”, Courfeyrac really hoped he sounded as inconspicuously as he attempted to. But Jehan probably wouldn’t even have noticed, if he had sounded weird. The man was staring at his coffee dreamily.   
“You wouldn’t believe what happened.”, he started toying with a strand of his hair. He had even forgone his usual braid today, a sign that he was definitely somewhere else with his mind. The idea that he was responsible for this made Courfeyra giddy.   
“Tell me.”, he said as calmly as he could.  
In lieu of an answer Jehan took out his notebook and grabbed a piece of paper, that was tucked into it.   
“Somebody placed this in front of our door! It’s a poem!”, his brown eyes were wide as he handed the piece of paper over. “And it’s Yeats!”   
Courfeyrac had to his a snort and he took a look at the poem he had sent. “  
So what now?”, he asked. He really wanted to know was Jehan was thinking, luckily it didn’t creep him out.   
“I don’t know, I guess I’ll have to wait. Why do you ask?”, Jehan looked at him suspiciously and Courfeyrac cursed himself internally.   
“Uh nothing, I mean… Who knows who this secret admirer is, maybe he is a total creep.”, he shrugged and then noticed how he just talked himself down. Way to got. Maybe he should stick to poems.   
He didn’t notice how Jehan’s smile fell a bit, as he talked like this about the poet-guy.   
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I really think it’s sweet.” And then they went back to talking about other things, but the smile never left Jehan’s and Courfeyrac wished he could see him like this every day.

 

*

 

It went on like this for the next days. Courfeyrac delivered poems, Jehan was excited and beyond happy. Apparently, Courfeyrac had instinctively found the one’s Jehan adored, despite having no idea of poetry.

 

It wasn’t until the 12th that Courfeyrac almost fucked up.   
He went to bed early, being tired from studying for his finals and he had set an alarm, so he could deliver the poem.   
And of course, he overslept. When he woke, it was because he had set a precautionary alarm for 3 am and by then he noticed he hadn’t written a poem down. In his sleepy state of mind, he wrote something down, a poem that he knew by heart. And then he ran over to Jehan’s flat.   
Just after he had laid the envelope down and turned around he heard footsteps approach.  
Of course, he would run into Grantaire, who else would be awake at half four in the morning on a Tuesday?

“So it’s you?”, Grantaire asked looking at him. He wasn’t even confused, more like stating a fact.   
“Uhm yeah?”, Courfeyac really hoped Grantaire was drunk and wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. But by the state of the other man’s hair, which was ruffled it was more likely he had spent the night at their flat with Enjolras and had fled the scene. Not that Courfeyrac would have noticed, he had been asleep by 8 o’clock.  
“You know, you shouldn’t run away after the two of you fucked.”, Courfeyrac continued. While his chance of love… or something was still to be calculated, Grantaire and Enjolras had been a thing for some time.   
But apparently, Grantaire was the only one, not completely sure of Enjorlas feelings. 

“I know, don’t give me that look.”, Grantaire said laughing quietly. “And I didn’t flee the scene. I have an early class tomorrow and all my stuff is here. Don’t worry, Enjolras and I are fine at the moment.”  
Never would Courfeyrac have dreamed fo hearing Grantaire say this.   
“And right now this doesn’t matter. Your intentions with my flatmate are much more important. What are you doing Courfeyrac?”, his tone has gotten from amused to serious.  
“Why is everybody treating this like a crime?”, Courfeyrac asked back and he let himself fall against the cold wall.   
“Look, I am not trying to lead him on okay. There is something… feeling stuff. All I know is that I love to see him this happy and he is smiling too much. Okay?”

Grantaire didn’t answer instantly. He just looked at Courfeyrac with a furrowed brow, actually, it looked a bit like the expression Enjolras had given him. He should take a picture of this, it was hilarious. Then Grantaire simply nodded.   
“If you hurt him, I will punch you.”  
With those words, he passed Courfeyray, patted him on the shoulder and opened the door of his flat.  
Why was everybody worried about Jehan? It was Courfeyrac, who was trying to woo him. 

 

He could get rejected.  
Oh god.   
He hadn’t really thought about it.   
Shit.

 

*

 

The idea of getting rejected didn’t Courfeyrac stop from keeping up his wooing. Jehan had started to send him a photo of every single one, first thing in the morning. He had started to put them on his wall.  
Words of love written in Courfeyrac’s best handwriting, that nobody actually knew because he was usually writing at a fast pace, which made his writing almost unreadable.  
They were hanging on the wall opposite of Jehan’s bed in his room, the white paper in a nice contrast to the pastel blue walls. 

 

*

 

Things once more got tricky not even a week after his nightly encounter with Grantaire. It was late and Courfeyrac was just done preparing tonight’s poem when his phone rang.   
Jehan.

“Yes?”  
“Courf, hey what are you doing?”, he could hear that Jehan was trying to suppress tears. Fuck.  
“Nothing, what’s up?”, he asked carefully. His friend definitely was upset, but he didn’t want to push it.  
“… Would you like to come over?...”, Jehan’s voice sounded vulnerable and who was Courfeyrac to say no?  
“Be there in 10.”

He hastily packed his bag with the things he needed for uni the next day. He knew Jehan and he knew that he wouldn’t be coming home. Before he left his room, he turned around again. Of course, he had almost forgotten the most important thing.   
When the poem was also in his bag, he hurried to the front door. On his way he passed Enjolras and Grantaire, having just come back from… a date?  
“Where are you going?”, Enjolras asked and Courfeyrac noticed that he was holding Grantaire’s hand. And he didn’t let go, even after Courfeyrac gave him a questioning look.  
“Jehan is upset. Don’t expect me home before tomorrow afternoon.”  
And without another word, he stormed out the door.

Jehan greeted him with red-rimmed eyes. He was bundled up in several quilts and almost tripped over them as he guided Courfeyrac to his room. As soon as both of them had gotten comfortable on his bed, Jehan threw his arms around Courfeyrac and mumbled a story about asshole-professors, who have no idea about literature into the crook of his neck.   
Courfeyrac did what he could best, he hugged him close and stroked his hair. It usually was best to let Jehan ramble. For a person so good with the written word Jehan tended to bottle up feelings he couldn’t pack into verses and then it sometimes came back all at once.   
They just lay there under the many quilts, limbs tangled. It was comfortable and Courfeyrac was pretty sure, if Jehan were truly happy right now, this would be the most perfect thing they could do.

But Jehan was still not really smiling, there was more.  
“Okay, what else is it?”, Courfeyrac asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.   
“It’s stupid. I just… This poem-guy…”  
“What did he do?”, Courfeyrac knew he sounded suspiciously appalled.   
“It’s fine. I mean it’s truly amazing. This guy knows so many good poets.”

Yeah or maybe he just knew how to google, but Courfeyrac definitely couldn’t say that out loud.  
“And he seems to know all my favorites.”, now Jehan was looking at him directly. His attempt at an expectant glare went a bit wrong as he went slightly cross-eyed since their faces were close. 

Very close, indeed.

Courfeyrac could kiss him, like this. But it wouldn’t be right, his mind supplied. Jehan was in a bad state. And while Courfeyrac was known to kiss everything better, he would feel bad to do it now. Not if there were different feelings behind it, at least on his side. 

“I bet, he’s just trying to get you to laugh and smile and if he could see you now, I bet he would be heartbroken.”, Courfeyrac settled trying his best smile.   
But Jehan only sighed barely audible and rolled his eyes.   
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I am just afraid he’s not the person, I hope he is.”  
“And who do you hope he is?”, Courfeyrac wasn’t sure if he wanted to know, but his mouth had been faster than his brain.   
“Oh, you’d like to know, wouldn’t you? I’m not going to tell. Guess we’ll see on the 24th.”  
After this, both of them drifted off to sleep, still entangled in each other.  
If Courfeyrac had been awake for ten more seconds, he would have heard Jehan mumble absent-mindedly.

“I wish it were you.”

 

Courfeyrac woke earlier than Jehan and extracted himself from the other man. Quietly he got the envelope out of his bag and hurried to the front door. He let the envelope fall to the ground. There weren’t many days to go and at this moment, as he was standing barefoot in the doorway, he wasn’t sure of this anymore. He hadn’t thought about how to tell Jehan, he knew he wanted to. The dirty white wall of the stairway held no answer for him, even if he would stare for hours.

He went back to bed, hugging Jehan close and waiting for the other man to wake up.

 

*

> _He touched me, so I live to know_  
>  That such a day, permitted so,   
> I groped upon his breast.   
> It was a boundless place to me,   
> And silenced, as the awful sea   
> Puts minor streams to rest. 
> 
> _And now, I ’m different from before,_  
>  As if I breathed superior air,   
> Or brushed a royal gown;   
> My feet, too, that had wandered so,   
> My gypsy face transfigured now   
>  To tenderer renown.  
> Emily Dickinson 

*

 

The days went on in a hurry and it felt like it had been just yesterday, that he had dropped off the first poem. But now it was 1 am, on the 24th of December and Courfeyrac was standing in front of the house, where Jehan lived.   
There wasn’t much to think about, he would go up there, lay down the letter, turn around and all of this would be over. He could do this. Any maybe Jehan will tell him, who he hoped it would have been.

He quietly walked up the stairs. Jehan’s and Grantaire’s flat was quiet. On his way over he had thought about knocking on the door. In his mind, he had played it all out. He would hand Jehan the envelope in person, the other man would smile his brilliant smile and then… well, who knew. He knew how Jehan would be thinking about today’s choice of poetry, it was his favorite poem. He had written it onto Courfeyrac’s skin so many times. During endless meetings in the summer, during quite nights with just the two of them on the sofa. Courfeyrac might not understand poetry, but over time those words have become important to him as well.   
This poem was theirs.

> _Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes,_  
>  And sweet is the voice in its greeting,  
> When adieus have grown old and goodbyes  
> Fade away where old Time is retreating.  
> Warm the nerve of a welcoming hand,  
> And earnest a kiss on the brow,  
> When we meet over sea and o’er land  
> Where furrows are new to the plough.  
> John Keats 

He was just about to turn around and go back home when he heard the door open.  
“It’s really you.”, Jehan’s voice was hushed, but when Courfeyrac looked up he was smiling. It was a different smile, one he had never seen before. It was as energetic as the other’s, no. It was soft but full of adoration. He felt himself blush under the gaze.  
“Yeah, I am sorry, if I’m not…”, he trailed off, not wanting to complete the sentence.  
“You’re not what?”, Jehan's voice was still soft as he picked up the envelope and opened it. Courfeyrac didn’t feel like playing this game. So he kept his mouth shut and watched as Jehan read the letter. After the first words, his eyes lit up.  
“This is… ours.”, he whispered and then he read the words aloud. Those words Courfeyrac had heard so many times.

“You’re not what?”, he repeated after he had finished.   
“I’m not the person, you hoped I would be!”, Courfeyrac answered louder than intended.  
“Do you really think so?”, Jehan folded the piece of paper and then took Courfeyracs hand and led him into his bedroom.   
They were standing in front of the wall with all the poems. Jehan took a tack and added the last one. He then stood back next to Courfeyrac and took his hand.   
“Thank you.”, he sounded sincere. His eyes were trained on the wall.   
“You’re welcome. As I said, I am sorry, if I am not, who you hoped I’d be…”, Courfeyrac looked at the floor, wondering why Jehan had brought him in here.   
“Are you really this stupid?”, the other man was actually chuckling next to him and Courfeyrac raised his head and looked at him.   
“Pardon?”  
But Jehan only kept laughing.   
“I hoped so much it would be you. But I felt stupid, you don’t do romance, and definitely something like this. And I was so confused, because who else knew about my favorites and I just wanted it to be you so much. But then I was pretty sure and I tried to get you, to confirm it. But whenever I hinted at it, you just acted like you didn’t care. So anyway. I hoped it would be you and I hope you share my actual feelings.”

The last sentence had barely been more than a whisper and Courfeyrac remembered his friends’ words. About leading Jehan on, about not having the same intentions. But he had thought about it for the last weeks, no, to be honest, he had been thinking about it for much longer. He wasn’t bad with words per se, but now for once, he felt like he was at a loss for them.  
“I… I might not have the best experience with romantic attraction. I can only tell you, what I feel about you. It’s more than my usual friendships and it’s different than what I feel for Enjolras and Combeferre. Is it love? I can’t tell. Maybe I can’t tell yet, maybe I will never be able to tell you. But I know that I feel something for you, I have never felt before and I want to be with you in any possible way.”  
He hoped this was enough. That his feelings were enough.   
“Who knew you could speak so poetically?”, Jehan had turned towards him and they were close, just like days ago on his bed. He looked into Courfeyrac’s eyes, with a serious expression. Then he closed his eyes and kissed him.   
The kiss was chaste and soft and everything Courfeyrac had hoped for.   
“So shall I ask you to be my boyfriend, or was this already a yes?”, Courfeyrac asked when they broke apart. Jehan only snorted and kissed him again.   
“Definitely a yes.”

Not much later the two of them were on Jehan’s bed, once more buried under the quilts and entangled in each other. Courfeyrac was playing with Jehan’s hair when something came into his mind.   
“Wait what did you mean, with you knew it was me?”, he asked somewhat appalled.  
“Uhm, love…”, Jehan extracted himself from Courfeyrac, who was smiling dumbly at the name. Jehan took all the blankets with him as he stumbled over to the wall and took off a piece of paper. With a giggle, he handed it to Courfeyrac. It was the one from the night, he had run into Grantaire.  
“I mean I have no idea, what was up that night, but this isn’t a poem. Those are One Direction lyrics.”  
“Ah shit and I was so proud, I knew a poem by heart.”  
“I will teach you some.”

> _I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth_  
>  But if I do, it's you, oh it's you, they add up to  
> I'm in love with you and all these little things 
> 
> _You can't go to bed without a cup of tea_  
>  maybe that's the reason that you talk in your sleep  
> and all those conversations are the secrets that I keep  
> though it makes no sense to me 

**Author's Note:**

> The works quoted are:   
> 1\. W.B. Yeats: Cloths of Heaven  
> 2\. Emily Dickinson: He Touched Me  
> 3\. John Keats: Sweet, Sweet Is The Greeting Of Eyes  
> 4\. One Direction: Little Things


End file.
